In Dreams
by Emihn
Summary: Dr. John Smith and his Trusted And Reliable Dream Infiltration Specialists team are hired to perform an inception. Their mark: Harold Saxon. Alternate Universe, WIP. Comments welcome!
1. Chapter 1

At the edge of a frozen wasteland, Dr. John Smith stood alone. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, shivering. The wind stung his eyes and bit at him with its wolf's teeth.

He had been there before.

Over and over and over.

"But how could you let this happen?" she said from behind him. "How could you do this to me?"

He turned to see her, blonde hair in braids, mascara-blackened tears running down from her wide brown eyes. "Now we'll never see each other again," she said.

"I know." He could have mouthed the words along with her.

"Was that what you wanted?"

"Of course n—" Smith hesitated as the ground under his feet groaned. Feeling suddenly off-balance, he shifted his weight. "What is he doing?" he muttered. "I told him, an hour in."

"What are you _talking_ about?" She threw up her hands. "Fine, you know what? I'm done. Obviously you care more about yourself and your own little games than anybody else." She turned and started to leave.

"Wait!" The ground tilted sharply, and Smith lost his footing and fell. He clawed at the frozen ground as he slid down the suddenly vertical surface, watching her walk away as if nothing was amiss, unaffected by the shift. He glanced over his shoulder to see an icy ocean churning beneath him, and when he looked back, she was gone.

"Rose," he whispered.

At that moment, Smith lost his grip and plummeted toward the bitter cold water and closed his eyes and—

He sat up with a start. "Took long enough to wake you," said Rory Williams as he let go of Smith's shoulders.

"I said an hour," Smith spat, yanking the PASIV needle from his arm. "I'm still your boss, you know, and last I checked you were supposed to listen to me."

Rory pushed his vintage glasses back on his long nose and shrugged. "There's a client here to see you."

Smith frowned. "We don't meet clients here." He gestured to the warehouse around them. "No one's even supposed to know where this place is."

"Yeah, well, this guy does." Rory headed toward the warehouse's massive blue door and slid it open. "Dr. Smith, this is Canton Delaware."

A middle-aged man with brown hair and a black business suit stepped inside. "It's bigger in here than you'd guess from the outside," he rasped in a broad American accent.

"So we've been told." Smith stood, rolling down his shirtsleeve. "But clients don't usually see it since we don't meet them here, and they certainly don't just drop in. So I'm curious to know your business, Mr. Delaware."

"Special Agent Delaware," he corrected, "and my business it the United States government's business."

"The U.S. government, eh? How delightful." He noticed Rory frown at his sarcastic tone, but Smith pressed on. "Perhaps it's escaped your notice, but we're in London. A bit out of your jurisdiction, I'd say."

"But I do have eyes and ears, and I know plenty about you and your little operation, Dr. _Smith_." Delaware glanced around. "You call yourselves the Trusted And Reliable Dream Infiltration Specialists. Seems kinda bold to put 'trusted and reliable' in your name. Makes you wonder whether you can back it up."

"If you didn't think I could," said Smith, "you wouldn't be here."

"Plus we know the American government has its own extractors that you could've gone to," Rory interjected. "And what _we_ do is not exactly legal. So there must be some reason why you've come to us specifically."

Delaware smirked. "I came to you because you're the best, at least according to what I've dug up. And yes, Mr. Williams, we do have our own extractors. But this particular…action is not something my government would publicly condone, although nobody would disagree that it needs doing."

Smith raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but because we're criminals, naturally we'll do anything and have no morals or standards."

"I didn't say that, Dr. Smith. I don't believe that this task is wrong—quite the contrary. But politics is tricky business. You understand. Dirty work needs doing whether people like it or not."

Rory folded his arms, looking thoughtful as always. "What have you got in mind, then?"

"I need you to perform inception on someone."

"Okay, well, first of all, that's impossible," Rory said.

Delaware raised an eyebrow. "Well color me surprised. I'd have thought that you'd tell your top associate about your greatest success, Dr. Smith."

"You performed an inception?" Rory asked Smith, incredulous and slightly offended.

Smith shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

"On a Greek manufacturing mogul named Silas Davros," Delaware continued. "With your crew of Noble, Jones, and Harkness, correct? but evidently you don't work with that team anymore."

"No," said Smith. Talking about his old TARDIS team made him uneasy. Donna Noble had been the world's best architect, but illness and events of the Davros job had claimed her mind; his point woman, Martha Jones, had left to work for a rival organization; god only knew what the notorious forger Jack Harkness was doing.

"But it was successful?" Rory asked. "I mean, it actually worked?"

"The idea stuck, yes," Smith explained, "but it was about as simple as an idea can be."

Delaware frowned. "I didn't take you for a modest man. No inception is simple, no matter what the idea. Yours is the only known successful one in the world."

"I was lucky," Smith cautioned. "I don't know if I can do it again."

"You can," Delaware insisted.

"We'll see. It depends entirely on the idea, and the mark."

"The idea is, 'I am a good person, and need to act like one.'"

Smith stared at him. "It's certainly vague enough. People have very different ideas of what constitutes a 'good person,' and that's not even addressing the issue of what motivates people to be good or prosocial—it could be practically anything."

"Couldn't the subject's mind fill that in, though?" Rory suggested. "Most people have similar understandings of what a good person is, I think. If we get the idea to stick, the details should work themselves out."

"Maybe, maybe not, but how would we get it to stick without a _why_? Everything has a why; everything needs one." Smith rubbed his temple. "Look, Delaware, we can come up with something, but I can't promise that it'll work."

Rory glanced back at Delaware. "Who's the mark?"

Delaware's perpetual smirk faded. "The prime minister of Great Britain."

Smith inhaled sharply.

"Harold Saxon?" Rory's eyebrows shot up. "Harold Saxon. The former minister of defense and new prime minister."

Delaware nodded. "I take it you know about him?"

_More than you realize. _Smith turned away slightly, hand over his mouth and chin, and said nothing.

Rory noticed Smith's reaction and looked puzzled, but said, "Well, yeah, everybody knows about Harold Saxon. He won the election by a landslide."

"Yes, he did. We believe that he's a very dangerous man, a serious threat to the U.K. and the world."

"How's that then? The country loves him."

Delaware shook his head. "They love what they _think_ he is, Mr. Williams. We still haven't been able to piece together his past, but we do know that what's publicly known is full of lies. Careful examination of his record in the Ministry of Defense, especially his pet project, the Archangel Network, reveals a troubling pattern. And if you followed politics more closely, you'd know that his foreign policy decisions have been alarming. Rest assured, Saxon is a problem. A ticking time-bomb, if you'll excuse the cliché."

"So the plan is to change him so he won't…go off?"

"Saxon must be neutralized, yes," Delaware said. "But assassinations are too easy to prove, and leave physical traces. And besides, having Britain's prime minister as an ally would be more useful to us than simply eliminating him."

Rory put up his hand. "Look, this is all well and good, but there's no way that we'll want to get involved in this. It's too complicated, too risky, no matter how much you offer to pay us. Isn't that right, Doc?"

Smith roused himself and turned back to Delaware, his face an expressionless mask. _This is it, then_. "We'll do it."

"We will?" Rory stared at him. "Did you hear anything he said? This is a horrible idea. It'll be a disaster."

"I said we'll do it."

The coldness in his voice seemed to surprise Rory. "So that's it, then. Decision made." Rory shook his head and looked back at Delaware. "No offense, but this is insane. For starters, how would we even get Saxon somewhere to dream-share with him? His security's a bit tight, you know."

Delaware shrugged. "It's no problem."

"Right, okay, kidnapping the prime minister is no problem. When did you want to do this whole thing, exactly?"

"In a week."

"Oh, naturally. A week to get the whole team together and make a plan."

"We'll find a way," Smith snapped, then turned to Delaware. "We'll meet you in a week, then."

"At the prime minister's cottage in Brighton," Delaware nodded. "And bring an extra device. I'm going in with you."

Rory frowned. "No you're not."

"This is a delicate mission," Smith agreed. "We're not taking a passenger."

"Dr. Smith," Delaware said, "not only am I going with you to ensure that everything goes according to plan, but I'm a highly trained and experienced federal agent. I may not be an extractor, but I can assist your team."

"Delaware—"

"This is not a request."

Smith waved his hand dismissively. "Fine. But I'm not responsible if anything happens to you."

"Fair enough," Delaware agreed. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. I have a kidnapping to finalize." Without another word, he turned on his heel and left, the blue door clanging shut behind him.

Smith sighed and went to pack up the PASIV device he had been using before, but Rory just stood there glaring at him, hands on his hips.

"What's this about?" he asked.

Smith knew what he meant, but shrugged and snapped the device shut. "What is what about?"

"_This_, Doc." Rory sighed, exasperated. "Is it just because it seems impossible? You want to see if you can do it?"

"Something like that."

Rory's eyes narrowed. "You agreed to it after you heard who the mark was. Is it because it's a high-profile job? That was never a big concern for you before." He hesitated. "…Do you know Saxon or something?"

_Or something_. Smith could not suppress a bitter chuckle. "Of course not," he lied.

Rory started to say something, but then shook his head and stormed off.

Smith let him go, knowing that Rory was cautious and suspicious, but loyal above all else. Rory would go along with the mission, even though he was right about it. It would be very complicated and very dangerous—more than Rory or even Delaware knew.

Suddenly exhausted, Smith sank back into his chair and closed his eyes. His last thought before he drifted into a dreamless sleep was one that never left him.

_I have to save him._


	2. Chapter 2

A million lights flashed and blinked in myriad neon colors, spinning through the Shanghai night. The chaotic melody of car horns, people walking and talking, and snatches of music barely filtered in through the high rise's thick glass windows.

"Are you sure she's here?" Rory asked as he checked his revolver.

The sharp patter of gunshots echoed from what sounded like the floor above them. "Definitely." Smith bounded off with Rory right behind him.

They ran up a metal staircase and found themselves in a long hallway lined with gleaming dark green tile. Three men in suits came around a corner, and Smith ducked into a doorway as Rory dispatched them expertly, his jaw set in a hard line as he fired his gun. Smith popped out again in time to see a tall black-haired woman in a flowing navy blue chiffon gown striding toward them, a gun in each hand.

"Evening, boys," she said with a red lipstick grin. She ducked as someone shot at her from a room to her left, then charged in after them, firing both guns.

"River," Smith called after her, "we want you to join us on a job."

"Is this really the best time?" Rory wondered aloud.

"Oh, this is just practice," said River Song as she emerged from the room, suddenly dark-skinned and middle-aged, with a long braid down her back. She strode forward then spun in a half-circle and kicked open a door. "Ah, there you are!" Smith and Rory both flinched at a shotgun blast, but River was already inside.

"So this is what you do for fun these days?" Smith yelled. "Seems a bit dangerous, don't you think?"

"Oh sweetie, you know me." She stepped back out into the hall, now with crisp blue eyes and a mass of springy blonde curls—her true appearance. "Danger makes things fun." She raised her guns. "How about we continue this conversation topside, hmm?" Smiling, she pulled both triggers—

Smith awoke with the shots ringing in his ears. Rory, in the chair beside him, had also woken up, and across from them River was sitting up and pulling out her PASIV's needle. "_Tu peux vas_, Noël," she said to a slim man by the door, who nodded and left. "It's a lovely set-up here," she continued. "I barely ever teach, I get to do all the research I want, and I get to live in Lyon. The university even paid for this," she added, pointing to the PASIV, "although what they think it has to do with archaeology, I have no idea." She smiled. "Anyway, what's this that couldn't wait until I woke up?"

Smith took a deep breath. "We've been hired to do a job on the British prime minister…an inception job."

River laughed, but it faded when she saw Smith and Rory's sober expressions. "You can't be serious."

"Apparently we are," Rory grumbled.

"We are _definitely_ serious," said Smith, ignoring him. "We'd really like you to come with us. It's an extremely high-profile and complex job, and we really need a good forger with us."

"I'm sure you do." River frowned. "But I thought the Davros job was a disaster."

Rory rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course you told _her_ about it. And I thought you and Delaware said that the inception worked?"

"It did," River continued before Smith could say anything, "but as I understand, it was the reason for the old TARDIS team's breakup."

"It was a very stressful job, and some people can't handle that level of intensity," Smith said breezily, trying not to choke on the lie. "But we both know you like that kind of job, don't you, River?"

She smirked and swatted at him. "I like a lot of things, Dr. Smith, but that doesn't mean I always dive in blindly, especially when the person offering it to me is acting as suspiciously as you are."

"Thank you," said Rory, but Smith just kept smiling his most charming half-smile, hair falling into his eyes.

"But still," River went on, "I have to say it's a little hard to resist."

"So you'll do it?" Smith and Rory said at the same time, Smith enthusiastic and Rory incredulous.

"Yes, my dears, I'll do it." She leaned back in her chair, smiling. "I have a feeling you'll need me."

…**.**

Smith stood in a peaceful English garden, just outside an old farmhouse's worn blue door. He had come alone, leaving Rory at the TARDIS warehouse to start working in earnest on their plans. Hesitantly, Smith knocked on the door.

"Coming!" came a woman's voice with a Scottish accent from somewhere inside. In a moment, the door swung open, and a tall young woman with long red hair peered out. Her eyes widened when she saw him. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Hello, Amelia." Smith smiled faintly. "May I come in?"

"Amy," she insisted, "and yeah, fine." She turned and he followed her inside. As he walked behind her, Smith glanced around her house. It looked the same as it had the last time he had been there—cozy, simple, and safe. Amy led him to the kitchen and he took a seat at a little wooden table, but she leaned back against the counter and folded her arms.

"It's been a while," said Smith.

Amy frowned. "Two years. It was two years last month."

It had been, but Smith remembered their argument after her first job as an in-the-field architect as if it had just happened. "I didn't think you wanted to see me again."

"Course I did." She paused for a moment, looking at him. "But you didn't come here just to chat, did you?"

"Amy…"

"Well, am I wrong?"

"No, you're right." Smith sighed. "Amy, I sent you home after the Atraxi job because I was being overprotective, because of what happened to Donna Noble and R—well, because of what happened to Donna. You know about that, don't you?"

Amy nodded. "I heard she's in a care home in Chiswick. Is that true?"

"Last I checked, yes. Garthowen. It's lovely," he added half-heartedly. "I just don't want that to happen to anyone else."

"I understand that," she said, "but bad things happen to all sorts of people, even people who never leave home at all. I'm an adult, and if I want to take the risk then it's my decision."

"I know that. And that's why I'm here." Smith leaned forward. "You're the best architect in the world now, and I need you on this job I'm about to do."

"I'm out of practice."

"Doesn't matter. You're a natural, you always were. Intuitive. That's exactly the sort of architect I want for this."

Amy sat down across from him and rested her elbows on the table. "What's the job?"

Smith swiveled in his chair to face her. "The mark is the prime minister of Great Britain."

She stared at him. "Harold Saxon?"

"Yes. We've been hired by an American federal agent who wants us to perform an inception on him, to plant the idea that he's a good man." Smith laughed bitterly. "Wait until you meet the agent, this Delaware character. He thinks he has everything all figured out, but he doesn't understand the most important thing."

"What's that then?"

"Harold Saxon." The name felt cold and unfamiliar on his lips. He had not said it in years.

Amy's brow furrowed. "How do you mean?"

Smith wanted to tell her everything then, from the beginning. The words were trying to spill out, but he forced them back and said instead, "I know that Saxon's problems are far worse and run much deeper than Delaware realizes. Saxon's mind could be more treacherous than anything we have ever faced."

"Do you think it'll work? The inception, I mean."

Smith hesitated. "No," he finally admitted. "No, I don't. But it doesn't matter. I took this job because it will give me an opportunity I've wanted for a long time, one that may never come again. Don't get me wrong, I do think that we can achieve something close to what Delaware wants, but not with the methods he wants and not with the same goal in mind that he has."

"Do the others know about this?" Amy frowned. "And what do you mean, what goal would you have instead?"

_I have to save him._

"Amy," Smith said quietly, "do you remember the first time I took you into shared dreaming? Do you remember what I told you?"

She nodded. "You told me to trust you, but—"

"Do you trust me, Amelia Pond?"

Amy hesitated, but then looked him straight in the eye. "Yes."

"Then _trust_ _me_. I promise you, the moment that you or the rest of the team need to know anything else, I will tell you."

She did not look completely convinced, but she said, "I guess I'm in, then."

"Excellent!" Smith stood and pushed in his chair. "Come to the warehouse in three days, all right? I'm sure you remember where it is."

"Of course." Amy stood as well. "And doctor?"

"…Yes?"

Amy smiled and threw her arms around his neck. "I've missed you."

He hugged her, burying his face in her shoulder, and said nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

"So, Harold Saxon." Rory stuck a photograph to the large whiteboard, then turned to face the rest of the team. "Age 37, divorced from Lucy Cole about six months ago. Worked for International Intelligence Limited, a private defense contractor, before gaining employment with the Ministry of Defence at age 30. He was appointed Minister of Defence three years later, and gained a reputation for being shrewd and hawkish. He received particular notoriety for his development of the Archangel Network, and for his swift and decisive response to the Racnoss terrorist attack. Ran for prime minister as a Conservative with almost unanimous public support and won the election. I'm sure you all got sick of those 'Vote Saxon' posters everywhere." Rory cleared his throat. "Since becoming prime minister a year and a half ago, Saxon has broadened Archangel's scope, made very few friends, and, according to Delaware, has increased surveillance and unexplained detention of UK citizens to an unprecedented degree. It's not clear what exactly Saxon's plans are, but the United States seems to believe that he is building up to something."

Smith stared at the photograph Rory had put up, a simple headshot taken during Saxon's campaign. In the picture, Saxon wore a sharp suit and tie and a charming smile, but his dark eyes were dead.

"This is a great overview," said River, pen poised over a thick blue notebook, "but what would be more useful to us is an understanding of his personality. What's he like away from the spotlight?"

"The overall consensus is that Saxon is determined, charismatic, and almost preternaturally clever, but he's also known for being ruthless and moody. One former aide in particular told the_ Daily Mail_ that he can be laughing one minute and angry the next, with no particular cause for either." Rory stuck a newspaper clipping to the board. "She said she quit because she was frightened of him. The _Mail_ also adds that they tried to follow up with her, but she was on holiday and had left no contact information with anyone."

"That's not suspicious at all…although considering the paper, who knows if it's true," Amy frowned. "What about his marriage? What happened there?"

"That's not entirely clear, either. Supposedly the divorce was a mutual decision, driven by, how'd they say it—" he put up another article, "—'irreconcilable differences.' But some of the tabloids seem to think that he married Lucy to make himself seem like a family man during the election, and then divorced her when he didn't need her anymore."

"Lucy hasn't gone 'on holiday,' though, right?" Amy asked.

Rory shook his head. "She's alive and well in Newcastle, back to working in publishing. No reports of a forthcoming tell-all, though, which is fortunate for her health but unfortunate for us."

"You know," said River, "from what you're saying and what I've managed to dig up, it seems that Saxon has no close friends, advisors, or employees that he's had for any length of time. I doubt there'd be any use in making forging a major part of this mission. It's too bad, really, it's a good technique to try in an inception job."

"Agreed," Smith said quietly. "It can't be our main tactic here."

Rory took out a black marker and wrote in large letters on the whiteboard, _I NEED TO ACT LIKE A GOOD PERSON_. "Delaware's original idea called for getting Saxon to believe that he's a good person, but I think that the real aim is more about controlling Saxon's actions than changing how he sees himself, though that might happen as well. Also, this version of the idea leaves his possible motivations more open. Maybe he should act this way to ensure that he remains in power, or maybe he'll gain more influence if he tries to make allies peacefully. The underlying motivation can be selfish, as long as the actions themselves are beneficial."

"Clever," River nodded. "That also makes it more likely that this idea will stick, even though it seems contrary to his nature."

Amy flipped through a stack of sketches. "My levels can help with that, by putting him in scenarios where acting for the common good will benefit him. The first's a government building complex, the second a city under attack…"

"Wait, how many levels are there going to be?" River asked.

"Three," said Smith. "You'll be the dreamer for the first level, Rory for the second, and Amy for the third."

"Will Delaware go all the way to the third level with you, or what?" Rory asked.

Smith shook his head. "Not if I can help it. I'll leave him on one of the first two levels with one of you two if I can. He is _not_ part of our team, no matter what he might think. Still, he's right—if he can fight, he'll be useful to us. I'm sure it will be a rough fight against Saxon's projections. Top Defence Ministry officials undergo anti-extractor training nowadays, so we can bank on his subconscious being militarized." _And that's the least of our worries._

"I suspected that," said Rory. "We can all fight, though…right?" He glanced at Amy, who he had only worked with in the field once.

"Scottish," Amy smiled, pointing to herself. "And I fenced in high school. I could probably show _you_ some moves, Mr. Williams."

Rory adjusted his glasses awkwardly. "Yes, ah, well, we need to make sure we can adapt fast and are ready for anything. Every aspect of this job suggests that it will be a serious challenge."

"It may be the hardest job any of us have ever had," said Smith. "Saxon is…Saxon is a very dangerous man. No one could climb so high so quickly without that being true. But it's safe to say, based on everything that we've learned, that he's also a very troubled man. We may find…things in his mind that we did not expect, things unlike any we've dealt with before. What we must remember is that we've been hired to take a man whose morals are suspect and change his actions, or even who he is. Even if we're not able to adhere to our plan —as Rory said, we need to be willing to adapt—we may still be able to accomplish what we need to." Smith hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "We also need to remember that anything we do to him will affect more than just Harold Saxon. He's the prime minister, and any changes to the sort of man he is will influence millions of lives. So I want you all to tread carefully and be more wary and concerned about the mark than you might otherwise be. Is that clear?"

The others nodded.

Smith realized that he had been tapping his finger for some time. A chill ran down his spine and he stopped. He could feel the others' eyes on him, especially Rory's, and he cleared his throat. "Something else I need to make clear before we go in," he continued. "We're a team, but I'm the leader. I need to know that you'll trust my judgment, trust what I'm doing. But also don't forget that you're all my friends and colleagues and I wouldn't send you into a situation if I believed there was no hope of success." He shifted in his chair, trying to ignore Rory's puzzled frown. "Now, are there any questions?"

"Not yet," said River, closing her notebook. Amy and Rory said nothing.

"Good. Now, Rory, would you check and see if Delaware's ready?"

"You've got it." Rory pulled out his phone, and in a moment said, "Well, he hasn't texted me, but he forwarded a BBC news update."

"What's it say?" Smith asked.

"That the prime minister has just left 10 Downing Street for a short holiday, and that he's going to his old vacation home in Brighton instead of to Chequers because he wants things low-key and doesn't want to be disturbed. It says he wishes to have, and I quote, 'a weekend of quiet reflection on future directions for his administration.'"

"It's time, then," said Amy, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," Smith said as they stood.

Rory glanced at Smith. He still seemed unsure, but he shrugged and said, "I'll drive."


	4. Chapter 4

"Good, you're here," said Delaware as he met them at the cottage's back door, which was flanked by two other suit-wearing men with stony expressions. "I've got him. Had a hell of a time, though. He was armed—killed two of my men before we knocked him out." Delaware led them into a large sitting room. The curtains were drawn, and the chairs and sofas were pushed to the edges of the room, leaving a large wooden coffee table in the center. Sprawled in one armchair was an unconscious Harold Saxon.

The team started setting up the PASIV, but Smith just stood there for a moment. Though his shirt was rumpled and spattered with blood, while asleep Saxon looked like an ordinary man—harmless, even peaceful. The incongruity of that image almost made Smith laugh.

"Go get hooked up, you," said Amy from beside him, startling him. She rolled up Saxon's shirtsleeve and inserted a PASIV needle, studying him curiously.

Reluctantly, Smith sat in an armchair across the room and inserted his PASIV needle. He leaned back and breathed deeply, watching the others attach their IVs. One of Delaware's agents stood by the PASIV, waiting for Smith's signal. Smith glanced to his left at Rory, who nodded once.

_This is it. God help us._

"Do it," said Smith.

The man hit the injection activation trigger and Smith felt a cold surge in his veins and—

For a moment, Smith was blinded by golden sunlight. Sights and sounds slowly faded into focus, and he was standing on a busy city street on a cool early evening. It was a vague facsimile of London; close enough that, while in the dream, the subject would not know the difference. Thick clouds hung overhead, the setting sun burning gold between them, and strange, erratic lightning flashed across the sky. Behind everything, behind the sounds of traffic, of people walking and talking, of the wind and faint thunder, was a noise.

Drums. A beat of four, an incessant pounding rhythm just loud enough to be impossible to ignore.

Smith's lips twisted into a bitter smile.

"Amy," said Rory, "where's that sound coming from? You hear it too, yeah?"

"I don't know," Amy answered. "It's not in the design, and neither is the lightning. River, it's your dream, did you—"

River shook her head. "I haven't added anything, I don't—"

"It's from Saxon's mind," Smith said.

The others stared at him. "What are you talking—" Delaware began, but at that moment a black sedan pulled up to the curb a few yards away. Harold Saxon got out of the backseat and was immediately flanked by stern-looking men in suits as he walked toward a building.

"We need to follow him," said Smith, starting forward.

Suddenly gunshots rang out and a bullet whizzed by Smith's head. "Down!" Rory ordered, drawing his revolver, and River and Delaware pulled out their guns as well. Projections screamed and scattered. Out of the corner of his eye, Smith saw Saxon's guards covering him and hurrying him into the building. For a split second, Saxon turned his head and looked right at Smith. Saxon's eyes narrowed, his expression a mixture of anger and bewilderment. Then he was gone, swept inside by his guards.

Smith turned to see the source of the gunshots—a dozen men, some with assault rifles, moving toward the team from the crowd. Amy grabbed his arm and pulled him along until they were behind the car Saxon had arrived in, which the team was using for cover as they fired back at the trained projections.

"Try the door!" River yelled over the deafening din, between firing her twin handguns.

Smith scrambled across the pavement, staying low, to check the door Saxon had gone through. It was solid metal and locked tight. "Won't budge!" Smith shouted as he crawled back, crouching behind the car between Rory and Amy.

"We can get in from the roof," said Amy, "we just need to get into the building next to it and go up."

"We'll cover you," Delaware said, taking down a projection with two shots from his Glock. "Come on, you guys ready?"

"Ready," said Rory. Smith and Amy moved back against the wall, the other three in front of them, and they moved to the side until they reached the door of the next building over. Rory pushed through everyone, yanked open the door, and checked inside. "Clear!"

They followed Rory in, River taking out one more projection before slamming the door and barring it shut. They were inside what looked like an office building that was under construction.

Rory spun around to face Smith. "Why did you say that noise is from Saxon's mind?"

"Well," Smith demurred, "if none of us added it, where else could it be from?"

"Right. Logic. Logic is a great cloak for a lie, don't you think?"

Smith was taken aback. "I'm not—"

Delaware frowned. "If you know anything, you need to tell the rest of us right now."

"I don't—"

"Oh come off it," Rory snapped. "You've been acting strange since Delaware told us who the mark is and you know it."

Smith's jaw tightened and he glanced at Amy.

She held up her hands. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh, you told her?" Rory glared at Amy. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing. He just said to trust him."

"Oh?" Rory turned back to Smith. "Trust you, eh? Like Martha, Jack, and Donna trusted you? Like Rose Ty—"

"Don't," Smith snapped, feeling his pulse rise. "Let me ask _you_ something, Rory. If you don't trust me, then why are you here?"

"I don't know. Mostly because people follow you for some reason I've yet to understand, and somebody needs to make sure they get out alive." Rory sighed. "Just tell us, Doc. Tell us about the noise, tell us what you know."

"It's a drumbeat. Saxon hears it all the time, awake or asleep, and he's heard it since he was a child. It's driven him mad."

Delaware stared at him. "We've found some MOD classified documents that hint at him having gotten psychiatric treatment, but nothing that says anything about auditory hallucinations. So how do you know?"

Smith hesitated.

"Doctor…" Rory warned.

"Fine!" Smith's eyes were stinging. "I know because Harold Saxon and I grew up together. We were schoolmates, all right? Best friends until…until they took him away. I don't know what happened after that, I don't…"

"That's why you signed us up for this?" Rory still seemed angry, but his tone had softened. "Because you used to be friends ages ago?"

Smith sighed. He had expected that he would have to tell the team about his plans at some point, but not so soon after entering the dream. "Because what's made him this way is not his fault, because I think if we can go deep enough and get to the source of the noise, we might be able to help him."

"Excuse me," said Delaware. "First of all, Saxon is a megalomaniac who doesn't want or deserve help from anyone. Second, you were hired for an inception job, not to hunt around for some noise inside a lunatic's head."

"But if we help him the doctor's way," Amy interjected, "then won't that basically accomplish the same thing? You said it would yourself, doctor."

Smith nodded. "I think it will."

"But you don't know that," Delaware insisted. "You have no idea what you're doing or whether it will work. And if you think for one minute I'll let you ignore the mission I hired you for—"

"You'll what?" Smith took a step forward, his voice gone quiet and cold. "You're far from home, you know."

"And your sleeping body is in a house filled with my agents, in case you forgot," Delaware growled.

"All right," River interrupted, stepping between them. "Stop it, both of you. We'll go all the way in, do what we can, see what works. We _will_ do the job, Mr. Delaware, but don't you dare threaten us ever again."

"Thank you," said Smith.

"And as for you," River snapped, "you brought us here without telling us what you really wanted to do. Did you truly think that would work? We're not stupid, my dear."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." Smith ran his fingers through his hair. "I really am. This is just very important to me."

"And that's why you should've told us," said Rory. "But all right. We're here now and we'll do our best. And no more lying."

"No more lying," Smith mumbled. Delaware was still glaring at him, and Amy looked concerned, but Smith took a deep breath and stood up straighter. "That's over with, then. Now come on, we need to find Saxon."


	5. Chapter 5

"I am here to see the prime minister," said River in a soft French accent, her appearance that of an older woman in a blue skirt suit with upswept grey hair. "I believe I had an appointment?"

"I know you fudged the records and all but isn't that still a little direct?" came Smith's voice over her earpiece. "Are you sure about this appr—"

"One moment, let me check," said the woman behind the desk, a projection of Saxon's subconscious like everyone else in the dream world besides the team and Saxon himself. "I have you down for a conference meeting. Is that correct?"

"A _conference_ meeting, miss? Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am," said the secretary. "You and several others are scheduled for a group meeting with Mr. Saxon in conference room 204 today."

River had only added herself to the records, but she nodded. "Very well. Is Mr. Saxon there now, miss? I would not want to keep him waiting."

"But you see, he is always waiting." The secretary slowly turned her head to face River. "The master waits in utter dark to take your mind and eat your heart one two three _four _one two three _four _one two three _four _one two three _four_…"

River felt a cold chill as the other projections froze in place and looked at her, joining in the secretary's chant in time with the drumbeat. "One two three _four_," they said in unison, "one two three _four _one two three _four_…"

A low rumble went through the building, and the floor beneath her feet trembled. River could feel the beat in the pit of her stomach.

"What the hell is going on down there?" said Smith in her ear.

River kept her expression serene. "Yes, of course. One two three four, one two three four."

The secretary nodded, and the projections fell silent and went back to what they had been doing. "Go right up," she said, "and have a pleasant afternoon."

"Thank you." River walked toward an elevator, forcing herself to keep her pace slow. After she got inside, she said to Smith, "Room 204. I'm coming up, you come down and I'll meet you there. Be ready for trouble."

…**.**

Smith followed Rory into the conference room, which had a long table and chairs but was otherwise empty. "That secretary made it seem like he was in here already," said River, who had been waiting at the door, "but as you can see, he's not."

"Saxon's subconscious wants us in here for some reason," Smith muttered, tracing the yellow wallpaper with his fingers.

Delaware shut the door behind him, frowning. "Besides those damned drums, it's too quiet."

Amy looked up at one of the corners of the room. "That's weird. Why are there speakers in here? I didn't include them in the design." She reached up and tapped one of them.

Feedback squealed through the speakers but stopped almost immediately, replaced by a guitar strumming and a man singing, rich and low. "_A candy-colored clown they call the sandman, tiptoes to my room every night…_"

The team stared blankly at each other.

"…_just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper, 'Go to sleep, everything is all right._'"

River's eyes went wide. "Oh no."

The music started in earnest as the vocals continued, "_I close my eyes, then I drift away…_"

Smith gawked at the speaker. "What in the…"

"…_into the magic night, I softly say…_"

"He _knows_," River said. "Saxon knows."

"What do you mean he knows?" Rory frowned.

"…_a silent prayer, like dreamers do…_"

River drew her guns. "Don't you people know what song this is?"

Smith remembered, and felt the blood drain from his face at the realization.

"…_then I fall asleep to dream, my dreams of you._"

The conference room door swung open and, wearing a black suit with the tie loosened and swaying with the music, Harold Saxon swept in. "_In dreams I walk with you_…" he sang along. The team stared at him, dumbfounded. "_In dreams I talk to you…_" Catching Amy by the waist and wrist, Saxon spun around with her, his dark eyes glinting. Amy seemed too shocked to do anything but move with him. "_In dreams you're mine, all the time_…"

"Stop it!" Rory leveled his revolver at Saxon.

"Or what? _We're together in dreams, in dreams_…" Saxon twirled Amy and then let her go, nearly spinning her into the wall. "I expect you'll shoot me, hmm? Ooh, what a brave soldier you are, I'm absolutely terrified."

Smith raised his hand. "Just shut it off and we'll talk, all right?"

Saxon's eyes narrowed. "_You're_ no fun at all. But oh, all right." He snapped his fingers and the music shut off, leaving only the drumbeat echoing in the sudden quiet.

"How did you know?" River asked, guns lowered but ready.

"That I'm dreaming? Did you really think I wouldn't? It was all rather obvious, really. Not particularly subtle."

"Says the man who used the song 'In Dreams' to tell us he knew he was dreaming," Rory muttered.

Saxon turned his head, lightning-quick and serpentine. "I'd ask you to keep your nose out of other people's business, but I have a feeling you can't help it." He drew his fingers out in front of his own nose and nodded knowingly.

"I think yours could use improving, actually." Rory cocked the hammer on his revolver. "It'll look much better after I've emptied this into your face."

"Lower your gun, Rory," Smith ordered. "_Now_."

Rory's jaw clenched, but he obeyed.

Saxon flopped into a chair and put his feet up on the conference table. "So, what's the plan? Got some state secret you're trying to ferret out, or maybe some fact about my personal life? It must be important, given the very real risk that none of you will survive this."

No one said a word.

Saxon smiled. "Oh come now. I'm all ears."

"We're here to help you," Amy said finally, folding her arms.

"By kidnapping me and breaking into my mind?" Saxon laughed. "I'm far beyond help, little girl. Hasn't anyone told you that?"

Smith took a deep breath. "Don't you want it to stop?"

Saxon started to speak but then hesitated. "Wait. I know you." He stood and took a few steps closer. Smith felt frozen to the floor as Saxon studied his face. It had been twenty years since Saxon had seen him, so his lack of recognition was not surprising. After a moment, he tilted his head. "…John?"

"Hello, Harry," said Smith.

Saxon cleared his throat. "It's been a…very long time. You've gotten older."

"Yeah, well, so have you."

"Your fashion sense is still deplorable, I see," Saxon added, poking Smith's bowtie.

Smith smiled. "And so's your taste in music."

"Ha! That would be a _no_." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "Why are you doing this?"

"To help you, just like Amy said."

"And I meant what I told her. There's nothing to be done."

"But what if we could find the drums here inside your head?" Smith insisted. "What if we could get rid of them?"

"You're wasting your time," Saxon snapped, his tone suddenly cold. He turned and sat back in the chair.

Smith took a step forward. "Why not let us try?"

"Because." Saxon had started tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair, an unconscious tic he had possessed for as long as Smith could remember. "Because I haven't forgotten what happened the last time you tried to help."

Smith swallowed hard. He remembered, too, remembered seventeen-year-old Harry screaming as the silent men in suits took him away, remembered the betrayed look in his eyes. "This is different, Harry, this is—"

"I said _no_." The sudden force and volume in Saxon's voice almost made Smith jump. But just like that, the anger vanished from Saxon's expression, and he leaned back in his chair. "Well, since I pushed the button under the table about, oh, two minutes ago, my guards should be here in about thirty seconds." He steepled his fingers. "Nothing quite like a nice firefight to brighten your day, don't you think?"


	6. Chapter 6

Before anyone could say anything, Saxon's eyes rolled back and he slumped forward onto the table. Delaware stood behind him, holding his Glock by the barrel. "Don't freak out at me, doctor," he said, holding up his hands, "I just knocked him out."

Smith glared at him. "Okay, um…_why_?"

Delaware shrugged. "Partly because I was sick of listening to him, and partly because, if he was telling the truth, then there's a pile of armed projections heading for us and we need to go under to level two ASAP."

"He's right," said Amy, putting a PASIV device on the conference table. "Well come on then, get in chairs and hook yourselves up, we haven't got all day."

"Have you got this, River?" Smith asked as he sat down and hooked up his IV.

"Of course, sweetie," River nodded, her twin guns ready. "Rory, when I'm about to do the kick, I'll use a musical cue to give you a head's up, all right?"

"All right," Rory nodded. "What song?"

"'Paint It Black.'"

"…The Rolling Stones? Really?"

"Dreamer picks the music, Mr. Williams," River grinned. "And as a wise man once said, _you_ _can't always get what you want_."

"Yes, among other pearls of wisdom like _I know it's only rock 'n' roll but I like it_," Smith grumbled, though he was unable to suppress a smile. "It's time, River."

Footsteps rang in the hall outside the conference room, and someone pounded on the door. "Sweet dreams, my dears," River said quickly as she activated the PASIV's trigger then spun around, guns aimed at the door—

Smith found himself on a dark wooden staircase, and caught hold of the railing until a bit of dizziness wore off. Glass-shaded wall lamps shone dimly yellow, and faint moonlight dribbled in from a rectangular skylight overhead. The air felt close and musty. Muffled sounds of distant gunshots and sirens echoed in the large space, with the drumbeat's infernal rhythm in the background as always but louder than it had been at the first level of the dream.

"I designed this level to help with the inception," said Amy from a the step below him. Rory and Delaware were ahead of her, a few steps further down. "Plan was that being forced to defend against an attack would put Saxon in a situation where he'd have to do the right thing. That's not really what we're going for now, but the level is what it is. Trying to change anything now would make the dream collapse—it's unstable enough as it is."

"Seems all right," Delaware shrugged.

Amy shook her head. "It's not. Can't you feel it? And look." She brushed her fingertips against the smooth, cream-colored wall. Where she had touched it turned slightly translucent, and Smith could barely see what looked like fire through it before the marks faded. "That's definitely not in the design. I think it's stuff from Saxon's mind bleeding through."

"So where is Saxon in this level, anyway?" Delaware asked.

"There's a sort of bunker off of a subway station down below. It's meant to be a UNIT or MOD outpost—we'll have to see what his mind's filled it with. But anyway, he'll be there."

The staircase rattled, and Smith looked back at the landing behind him. A blonde woman with braided hair was there, her back to him, walking away.

"Ro—"

"Doctor?" came Rory's puzzled voice from behind him.

"I just…" Smith glanced from Rory back up the staircase, but she was gone. "I…uh, never mind." He could feel a chill nipping at the back of his neck. "Were you saying something?"

Rory raised an eyebrow. "I was about to say that Delaware and I will take the lead, but you and Amy had better keep an eye out because we could run into trouble."

"No problem," said Amy, smiling at him.

Rory half-smiled back, adjusted his glasses, then started down the seemingly endless staircase with Delaware behind him and Amy and Smith lagging a few steps behind both of them.

"So," Amy said quietly, "you and Harold Saxon were friends? Seems a bit of an odd match, yeah?"

Smith shrugged, still slightly shaken after what he had just seen. "He wasn't quite like that as a kid. I mean, he got into a little trouble here and there but nothing too bad. He was never boring, anyway. We made a good team."

"What did he mean about what happened the last time you tried to help him?"

Smith took a deep breath. "Well, I'd known about the drumbeat he hears for a long time, since we were quite young. I knew it really bothered him, some days worse than others. I didn't really understand what it was or what had caused it…I still don't. I researched auditory hallucinations, tinnitus, everything I could think of and as thoroughly as I could at the time. I didn't come up with anything useful, and even if I had, I learned quickly that there was no point in suggesting it to him. Harry was convinced that the sound was real, although he wouldn't explain to me why he thought that. Every so often he'd ask me if I could hear it, but of course I couldn't. By the time we were in our teens he stopped asking."

Amy shook her head. "Did anyone else know about it?"

"I'm not sure. Sometimes he'd get in trouble for being distracted in class, but that never amounted to anything. In any case, he swore me to secrecy." Smith sighed. "But when we were seventeen, I decided that he really did need help, and that if I couldn't give it to him, I needed to tell someone who could. So I told the school nurse about the drumbeat."

"What happened after that?"

"She brought Harry in, and he said I was making it up. I assumed that would be the end of that. I mean, Harry was livid and wouldn't speak to me, but I figured that would pass eventually; we'd been best friends for nearly ten years, after all. A couple weeks went by, I think. Then one day when we were at school, this black van showed up with these men in suits and ties. None of them said a word. Harry's uncle who worked for the Ministry of Defence was with them. They marched right onto the schoolyard and took Harry, without any interference from teachers or staff. Harry was…" Smith shook his head, swallowing hard. "He was screaming at me. I can't even remember what he was saying, just the…the look on his face."

Amy touched his arm gently. "I'm sorry. But it's not your fault—I mean, you couldn't have known that would happen."

"Maybe not, but what I did is what led to it, to whatever the MOD did with him. All I know is that after that I heard nothing of him until the MOD went public with the Archangel Network, and he was credited as its developer."

Amy was silent for a moment, and Smith wiped his eyes. They had finally reached the bottom of the staircase, which opened up into an abandoned subway track.

"We've got to go along here for a little bit and then we'll be there," Rory called over his shoulder. "Watch your step and keep sharp, all right?" He hopped down onto the track, and the others followed him. The passage was very dimly lit, and the old metal track underfoot made walking somewhat treacherous.

After a few minutes of walking, Amy asked him, "How do you think we'll get rid of the drumbeat, then?"

"I honestly don't know. I assume that it will be centered in some type of physical object or location, but I don't know what exactly it'll look like in the dream space once we get all the way in. I think that we'll have to see when we get there. Harry himself may subconsciously know how to find it, at least, which is why it's very important that we get him to come with us into level 3."

"Do you think you can talk him into it? Didn't go so well last time you tried to."

"I think I can, yes. Possibly. Eventually." Smith ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, it'll work out."

Amy shook her head, chuckling at him. "I guess we'll find out."

They had reached a point where the space around the track widened, and to their right was a subway station with black-and-white checkered tile walls. Rory pulled himself up onto the platform, and Delaware, Smith, and Amy followed him up. "It should be right around here," said Rory, leading them around a corner.

At that moment they were hit by a blast of bright white light. "Who are you?" demanded a male voice. "What are you doing down here?" As Smith's eyes adjusted, he realized it was three men in military uniforms, armed with large assault rifles with flashlights attached to them.

"I could ask you gentlemen the same thing," said Rory, leveling his revolver at them.

"Stand down," came another voice from behind the men. Grudgingly, they lowered their weapons and stepped aside. Harold Saxon stood there, a long black coat over his usual suit. He tilted his head, his expression almost a pout. "Aw, put that little toy away," he said to Rory, then turned to Smith. "And hello, John. It took you and your friends long enough to get down here. Did you get lost? Take the scenic route?" He smiled, but his eyes were cold. "I think you'd all better come with me."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm dreaming," said Saxon. He was leaning back against a rickety-looking bank of computers, his arms folded. Smith thought he looked older and more tired than he had at the first level of the dream.

The room creaked and shuddered, the wall lamps rattling as if at the passage of a train. "Yes," Smith said. "And we're here to help you."

"Help me?" Saxon looked slightly puzzled. "I don't…didn't we already talk about this?"

"I've been trying to help you for a long time, Harry," Smith said cautiously. "My team and I have come to get the drumbeat out of your head. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Do you think I believe for one minute that you can actually do it?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

Saxon's eyes narrowed. "No."

"You could let us try to—"

"Haven't you learned your lesson? The answer is no." He took a step forward, the anger in his expression fading until it burned only in his eyes. "You know," he said, "I hear that injuries in a lucid dream hurt just as badly as ones in waking life. You should take your little gang and get out of here before I decide to test that out, don't you think?"

Smith hesitated. It was far too important to have Saxon cooperate with them, but his approach was clearly not working. "Harry…"

"Goodbye, John." Saxon turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Well _that_ was a rousing success," Delaware muttered.

"No one asked you," Smith snapped. He rubbed his temple and sighed.

Amy laid her hand on his arm. "What are we going to do?"

Smith stared at her as a thought occurred to him. "_We're_ not going to do anything. _You're _going to go talk to him."

"I'm what?" Amy asked.

"She's _what_?" said Rory at the same time.

Smith waved his hand. "Oh, it'll be fine. He's all bark and no bite…actually, he's quite a lot of bite, but he wouldn't bite y—okay that is definitely a lie…"

"Doctor," Amy interrupted, "why in the world do you want _me_ to talk to him?"

"Because I'm the one who knows him best, but at the moment that's backfiring. We clearly have too much unresolved baggage for him to listen to me about this right now. You're smart and he seems to like you well enough, so I think you might be able to help talk him into it."

"He _likes_ her," Rory mumbled. "Great."

Amy frowned at him. "Something to say, Williams?"

Rory fiddled with his glasses. "No. I just don't think it's a good idea."

"It's the best shot we have right now, Rory," said Smith.

"Is it, though?" Delaware asked. "The US ideally wants Saxon for an ally, but considering that we've apparently scrapped the inception, and that your approach is, frankly, ridiculous, I'm starting to think it'd be neater to assassinate him."

"That is _not_ happening," Smith warned.

"Because we're sedated, if I kill him in here his mind will be gone, right? He'll be a vegetable. That'd give us great plausible deniability." Delaware smirked. "Maybe he had a stroke, a massive heart attack…no one would know."

Smith felt his face growing hot. "If you lay a finger on him, I swear to you I'll—"

"I'll do it," Amy interrupted. "I'll talk to him."

"Thank you," said Smith, still glaring at Delaware.

"Just don't kill each other while I'm gone, yeah?"

…**.**

From designing the level, Amy knew exactly where the door Saxon had gone through would lead—a large office that she assumed Saxon's subconscious would claim for him, which it had. Saxon sat at a metal desk, the room lit only by an old-fashioned lamp with a green glass shade. He was tapping his fingers on the desk and staring blankly into space, but he glanced up as Amy walked in. A hint of confusion in his expression was smoothed over almost instantly. "I tell him to take his sidekicks and leave, and instead he sends one of you to me?"

"He's stubborn," Amy shrugged.

"Mmm. Indeed. And your name is…Amy, right?"

"Yeah," she nodded. He must have remembered subconsciously from the first dream level. "Amy Pond."

"Tell me, Amy Pond," he said, drawing out her name, "why are you here? Has John sent you as his mouthpiece, his obedient pawn…perhaps a sacrificial lamb…?"

"I'm here because I want to talk to you," she said. "Dr. Smith speaks for himself, and I speak for myself."

"Do you, now?" Saxon gestured to one of the chairs in front of the desk. "What would you like to talk about?"

Amy sat down cautiously. His tone was polite enough, but under his gaze she felt like a mouse being studied by a snake. "The drumming. How do you live with it?"

Saxon seemed taken aback for a moment, but then he said, "I don't know. I first started hearing it when I was eight, and it's been constant my whole life since then."

"What about when you were a little kid?" she asked. "Do you remember then, before it started?"

He looked at her without saying a word for what seemed an uncomfortably long time, and Amy tried not to fidget. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "You know those moments where everything is still and peaceful, when you can close your eyes and all you hear is the wind rustling the leaves, or your own breathing?"

Amy nodded.

"I can imagine them, but I can't remember them. I can't remember silence. Even when I'm sleeping, it's always there. It never goes away, never stops, the endless pounding relentless drumming…" Saxon trailed off, fingers clenching the arms of his chair.

"I can hear it," Amy said softly. "Here inside your mind, I can hear it. We can all hear it. You're not alone."

Saxon smiled, but his eyes were dead. "I'm always alone."

She felt a chill in the pit of her stomach. "But you don't have to be. And don't you ever wonder what it would be like, without the drums? What _you'd_ be like?"

"Of course I do, but it's like trying to imagine life without your lungs, or with a different brain. It's become part of me. It's made me who I am."

"I wouldn't say that. I think you've become who you are in spite of it. I mean, you're prime minister."

"And yet that's so small, isn't it?" he said. "The UK is one little place in a massive universe. How could it ever be enough?"

"Is that because you think power will make you feel better? That controlling other people somehow makes up for being unable to control the noise in your head?"

Saxon smiled faintly. "'I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.'"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Is that…Shakespeare?"

"_Hamlet_, yes. And it's true. If you're content, anything is enough, but even the vastness of the whole world feels like a prison when the real prison is inside your head."

"But what if there was a way out?" Amy took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Please, I want to help you, but we can't do it without you. Please come with us."

Any hint of a smile faded from Saxon's expression. "Do you really trust your dear doctor?"

"He's my friend."

"Hmm. That's not an answer, but all right. Your _friend_, is he? He was my friend once, too. Haven't you noticed what happens to his friends? He goes after something or other and doesn't think about the collateral damage, or what it might cost. He has all the good intentions in the world, but there's a reason why they say those pave the road to hell."

Amy said nothing, but her thoughts drifted to Donna Noble, to Martha Jones and Jack Harkness, to the woman she knew nothing about except her name—Rose. She did not know what exactly had happened on the Davros job to split the old team apart, or what horrible fate Rose had suffered that led Smith to never speak her name except in his sleep.

Saxon leaned forward toward Amy, too close, eyes piercing her from under heavy lids. She forced herself not to retreat from him. "So tell me, little girl. How can I entrust my life, my sanity, to a man like that?"

"Because this isn't about him," Amy replied, looking him right in the eye. "It's about the fact that you have this terrible thing inside your head, and that this might be your best chance to get rid of it. And it's not just the doctor. It's a team of five people, all here to find a way to free your mind from the drums. Maybe you think you've tried everything, but have you ever tried this? To get at it from within your mind? Isn't it _worth_ trying?"

Saxon just looked at her, and Amy could see him thinking, see him teetering at the edge of shutting down as he had several times before. He cleared his throat and glanced down at his hands, then back up at her. "Can you really make it stop?" he asked softly.

Amy took a deep breath. "I will try my absolute best, I promise you, and I know everyone else will, too."

Saxon hesitated, then nodded, a faint sheen to his dark eyes that might have been unshed tears or a trick of the dim light. "Guess it's worth a try, hmm?"

Amy sighed, relieved, and smiled brightly at him. "Great! Come on then, let's—"

Suddenly, gunshots erupted from the neighboring room. Amy leapt to her feet; Saxon was already up, a sleek black gun in his hand. "Can you fight?" he asked as he chambered a round.

Amy pulled out her own gun. "Oh, definitely."

"A Scottish redhead with a Beretta. Hmm." He smirked at her. "Let's go join the fun, shall we?"


End file.
